


utinam

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Extra Treat, Holding Hands, Love Confessions, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-30 05:50:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8520874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: “I shouldn’t,” Obi-Wan said, body going rigid at her side. That wasn’t her intention, but she didn’t take the question back. She didn’t contradict him either. “The senator has only just returned. You two should—”“He missed you, Obi-Wan,” she said, matching him for vehemence. In this, she would fight him. I’ve missed you, she thought, even though you’ve been here all along. “He would be disappointed if you didn’t put in an appearance.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merfilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/gifts).



Breha sometimes thought it was destiny that brought Obi-Wan Kenobi to Alderaan all those years ago, serendipity, a grand good luck that Breha hadn’t yet exceeded or even matched in the time since. As she stared at the assassin droid sparking at his feet, she added another tally to the list. _He has saved your life. Again_.

_How many times is that now?_

“You shouldn’t be here, Your Highness,” he answered, more good humored than the words and situation would suggest. As far as bodyguards went, he was the least stodgy she’d ever come across. He peered around him, eyes scanning the ceiling, the floor, both ways down the hall. “There may be another.”

She clutched at her dress, lifting the hem as she toed at the mangled detritus before her. It hissed and sputtered and Obi-Wan jerked forward, hand out, dragging the blaster he’d only just holstered from its place on his hip. But the droid was thoroughly neutralized and he sighed, annoyed, as he realized it, too. “Merely its death throws, I think,” she said. “Separatists, do you imagine?”

“Undoubtedly,” Obi-Wan said, spitting the word with as much vehemence as his cultured, even-toned voice ever developed. “Not that we’ll find that out from analysis.” He dropped his arm to his side, blaster held loosely in his hand. His other hand brushed through his hair, feathering the strands, probably the least destructive means of discharging frustration in his repertoire. Then, kicking at the droid, he added, “Not that that’ll stop me from trying, of course.”

Breha inclined her head in acknowledgment, the weight of her head wrap shifting forward slightly. “Of course not.”

“When is Ba—Senator Organa going to bring this up in the Senate again?” Obi-Wan asked, a little petulant. “Or even just with the Chancellor? Someone needs to do something about this.”

“And here I thought you had,” she replied. Spying a cleaning droid approaching, she held out her elbow, which Obi-Wan took immediately with more gracious gallantry than his demeanor might have suggested. “The Separatists aren’t serious about ending my life. They wouldn’t be this obvious if they were. They want to scare me. I will not be scared. The Senate has done all it is willing to do.”

“I can’t be everywhere at all times, Your Highness,” he insisted, fierce, his voice low and hot with passion. “And I might be good with a blaster, but that guarantees nothing, nor does your astute observation of the Separatists’ motives.” He stared down at his feet, biting his lip, looking so much younger for a moment than his years—and beard and the occasional shine of a gray hair at his temples—suggested. “One day I might not be enough whether they mean it or not.”

The urge to roll her eyes was strong, but Breha was stronger than the impulse. She would never win this argument after all. There was no point in exerting energy bemoaning the point. And there were more pleasant things to think about anyway. “Will you join me for dinner?” she asked, her fingers tightening in his forearm, the pale linen of his sleeve soft beneath her fingertips.

“I shouldn’t,” Obi-Wan said, body going rigid at her side. That wasn’t her intention, but she didn’t take the question back. She didn’t contradict him either. “The senator has only just returned. You two should—”

“He missed you, Obi-Wan,” she said, matching him for vehemence. In this, she _would_ fight him. _I’ve missed you,_ she thought, _even though you’ve been here all along_. “He would be disappointed if you didn’t put in an appearance.”

Obi-Wan smiled crookedly, though it was obvious he was trying not to, and looked away, cheeks going pink. Clearing his throat, he exhaled. “Who am I to deny you my presence at dinner?” He nodded. “I’ll be there.”

“Good,” Breha said, pleased that she’d anticipated him correctly. She’d already asked the kitchen to make Obi-Wan’s favorites—incidentally, they were Bail’s favorites, too—in the hopes that she could convince him.

She hadn’t thought it would be quite that easy.

A good sign, she thought.

*

“Senator Amidala is well,” Bail said. His fork clacked against his plate as he stabbed a spear of _leissla_ on the tines. As he raised the purple vegetable to his mouth, he paused in his recitation of the winding and infinitely varied Senate gossip he’d picked up during this session. After chewing and swallowing, he completed his thought. “She’s married a former Jedi.”

Breha’s eyes flicked briefly to Obi-Wan’s face. Stilling, he stared down at his plate for a moment, breathing slowly, but when he lifted his head again, he smile at Breha, a private smile, and winked. “Who?” Breha asked, though the chances of her knowing them were slim. There was little need for a Jedi presence on Alderaan. She only learned of them secondhand from Bail.

“Anakin Skywalker,” Bail answered.

Obi-Wan coughed. “ _General Skywalker_?” he asked, eyes wide. Everyone knew General Skywalker. He was the one bright light in the fight against the Separatists. Jedi. Leader. Hero. If you only got your information from the HoloNet, you wouldn’t be out of line believing he was the only shield between democracy itself and the complete dissolution of the Republic at Separatist hands.

Bail smirked, knowing, apparently happy to have scandalized Obi-Wan. Breha would have been amused, too, but for the flash of anger she saw in Obi-Wan’s eyes, the defeat and bitterness, hard and glinting. It was a look he only ever developed when the Jedi were invoked. “It came as quite a surprise to the Jedi, too,” Bail said, as soothing as he could manage, because he knew Obi-Wan, too, and enough of his history to tread a bit more carefully than he’d started the conversation being. Somehow he avoided sounding patronizing. “I don’t think I’ve seen Master Yoda quite that perplexed.”

“What did the Council do?”

“Not a thing.” Bail shook his head. “He’s no longer a Jedi—of his own choice from my understanding—but he’s still a commander of the Grand Army. According to Padmé, he’s even retained his lightsaber and has been asked to continue training his Padawan.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrow arched, but his body loosened up, relaxing back against his chair. Why that had been the cue to tell Obi-Wan that all was well was beyond Breha’s understanding. The one part of Obi-Wan’s life they didn’t know much about was his parting with the Jedi. She and Bail had pieced together a bit of his past. He’d left about the time he turned thirteen and it couldn’t have been a pleasant parting. And the Jedi had shown little flexibility with him for reasons they would never know probably. They knew most children were chosen as Padawans at about that age, but they could never ascertain whether he had been dispelled for some reason or simply no Master had taken over his training. Breha couldn’t imagine either possibility. And yet, Obi-Wan wasn’t a Jedi even though he so clearly should.

“That’s… unusually lenient of the Council. Are they happy?” The lilt of his voice turned skeptical, but Breha detected a keen interest that he couldn’t stifle no matter how hard he tried.

Perhaps the Jedi have learned something since Obi-Wan’s more youthful days. Breha hopes so, if only so Obi-Wan could feel closure. Maybe this was why Bail brought it up despite the fraught nature of the subject.

Bail pushed his plate away, laced his fingers together and focused entirely on Obi-Wan, sympathetic and warm and welcoming. “It seems so,” Bail said. “Padmé especially. I haven’t spoken with General Skywalker, but I would assume the same is true for him.”

“Then they are very fortunate,” Obi-Wan said. And if Breha hadn’t been paying such close attention to him, she might not have seen him swallow, nor seen him blink too fast and quick. He glanced down again at his plate, but there was a soft smile on his face, full of longing. Curious. No, not curious. Painful. “You must offer my congratulations to the senator.”

Breha ached for him. He looked so lonely sitting across from her and Bail, a singular presence in their lives when both she and Bail would…

She took Bail’s hand under the table, wrapped her hand around his wrist and tapped her fingers against his palm. He nodded in her peripheral vision. They’d talked about this before in only the vaguest of terms. What ifs. And one days. And maybes. And maybe, maybe that time has come. Maybe Obi-Wan would want to hear it from them finally. Breha never before felt the time had been right, despite how long they’d all been together. Bail seemed to realize it, too.

He’d been with them since Breha took the throne, almost since she and Bail had been married. And for such a long time, they’d withheld their desires from him. First because Obi-Wan hadn’t seemed interested in anyone, too busy training and learning and familiarizing himself with Alderaan to pay much attention to what others felt for him. Then it just became habit to let Obi-Wan alone. Then she thought maybe he just wasn’t interested in them.

That had been a mistake, Breha realized. He deserved to know. He _deserved to know_ how highly she and Bail regarded him. Whether or not he felt the same

“Obi-Wan,” she said. She exchanged a look with Bail and saw that his eyes sparkled, hopeful, loving. Yes, they had taken far, far too long to have this talk with Obi-Wan. And now she didn’t know how to start. She was the queen of Alderaan, carried a word for every occasion, and yet couldn’t—couldn’t figure out how to approach this. “You know that Bail and I care for you,” she settled on, which, as far as such things went, wasn’t terribly compelling. “Don’t you?”

“Yes?” he replied, uncertain, his eyebrows furrowing together. His hand came up to stroke at his chin. “You’re both very—”

“What we’re trying to say,” Bail said, his words tripping overfast from his mouth in a way that was unusual for him, “is we wouldn’t be who we are without you. You’re as much family to us as we are to one another. We… we love you.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened and his posture went rigid once again. His elbow banged against the edge of his chair, but he hardly seemed to notice it. “You love me?”

Breha nodded. Reaching across the table, she motioned for him to place his in hers. It was warm and dry, calloused along the thumb. She caressed the delicate lines that made Obi-Wan’s hand his and his alone and heard him release a shuddering breath. Bail brought his hand up, too, covered both Breha’s and Obi-Wan’s with the wide span of his palm.

“We do,” Breha said. “And whether or not you feel the same, we wanted you to know that. You are loved.”

Obi-Wan was silent for a long, impossible moment, time stretching out as Breha waited for an answer, for anything from him, a confirmation, a denial. It didn’t matter. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest, her nerves dancing. She hadn’t felt this way since she and Bail found one another, still tentative with one another, unsure of the other’s feelings.

They all stood on the point of something unknown and Breha couldn’t predict which way they would fall. And it would be a fall either way. Love always was.

“I’m—” Obi-Wan replied, floundering, his eyes fixated on their joined hands. Lifting his gaze, he stared at Breha openly, wild-eyed. “I’ve loved—I _love_ you, too.” His attention turned to Bail. “Both of—you really mean it?”

“We mean it, Obi-Wan. In whichever way you will have us, we’re yours,” Bail said.

“I—thank you. None has ever said that to me before,” Obi-Wan said, ponderous, stunned. He swiped at his mouth again and when he drew his fingers away, his lips held the most genuine smile Breha had ever seen him wear. His hand turned beneath Breha’s, clasped at hers as Bail’s tightened around both of theirs.

Nothing had ever seemed quite as right as this. “Stay with us tonight, Obi-Wan,” she said. _Stay with us every night_.

“Gladly,” he said. His eyelashes painted a shadow across his cheeks as he ducked his head. “Breha.”

 _This was the first time he’d called her by her name_ , she thought, just as stunned as him. “Say my name again,” she said, the command barely a command at all, tentative at best.

With a pleased huff of laughter, Obi-Wan did as she asked.

Yes, this was definitely right.


End file.
